


A Dose of Laudanum

by Tonica



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: M/M, Slash, drug, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonica/pseuds/Tonica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George Warleggan is consumed by a secret longing for Ross Poldark. He comes up with a plan to fulfill his desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dose of Laudanum

George Warleggan took his usual courtesan back up the stairs to a more private room. Their dealings were of long standing. She knew exactly what he liked and because Warleggan paid handsomely, she didn't object to what in her line of work was considered somewhat outré. Warleggan stretched out on the bed, and she pulled his pants open in front. After performing 'the French', she obediently lay down next to Warleggan, face down. She had drunk freely from the expensive imported wine he always ordered, so she was pleasantly relaxed, but she still had to grind her teeth to be able to endure Warleggan's moves.

Afterwards, he handed her a purse, that felt heavy enough to contain her usual fee. Warleggan did not take kindly to a more thorough counting of the payment. She received it from his nonchalant hand and left the room, limping slightly, tidying her clothes before facing the crowd downstairs.

George Warleggan remained on the bed for some time longer, satisfied, yet not completely satisfied. There was always something missing. His mind avoided touching upon this particular thought and instead chose to dwell fondly on his investments and his growing wealth. That at least was beginning to live up to his expectations. Not that it was anywhere near enough. He wanted more. Needed more. He was beginning to get pleasantly sleepy and considered paying for the entire night, then thought better of it. The following morning he had an important meeting. Their work wasn't done without effort. There was always more money to be made. Each bank deposit contributed toward the day when he would be accepted and not only accepted but also admired and envied.

Even today, families pursued him in search of a wealthy husband for their daughters. Not families he would have chosen, but that day would come soon. He wasn't that old. One day, the more exalted families would come. They would be vying for his approval, fighting each other like peasants over a dirty little coin thrown by a passing traveler.

Yet the thought of marriage only appealed to Warleggan so far as to raise him further in the estimation of his peers. Being tied to a woman did not fill him with expectation as it should and the thought somewhat annoyed him. Then a flash of anger restored his good humour. Should he be judged by the same rules as the country people in Cornwall? Whatever he dreamed of in his private moments, it was no concern of theirs. Despite the brief flash of bravado, his mind shied away from the real object of his desire. Instinctively he knew it could not bear the scrutiny of others or be displayed openly in the light of day. The unfulfilled longing had to remain where it always hid, deep down, far away from the eyes of his fellow men. It must never be said of George Warleggan that he suffered from the Roman vice.

In the morning, he arrived at the offices in good time, before the meeting was due to start. George's uncle, Cary Warleggan, was already present, a fact which annoyed George. Some day, he wanted to be the first one to arrive and to be able to stare smugly at his elder exactly as Cary was doing now. Not wanting to display any visible signs of anger, he merely nodded briefly.

When the meeting was over and their client had signed the required paperwork, the Warleggans sat perusing other documents, then broke off for lunch. In the afternoon, they discussed their further plans. George suggested new potential clients, Cary sometimes agreed, at other times did not. At times, George's will prevailed, but more often than not, it didn't. That too, was a cause for anger, carefully concealed.

Throughout his work day, a train of thought continued at the back of George Warleggan's mind. How could he snare Ross Poldark? How could he bring his long-time enemy and object of his envy, to his knees? He wanted Poldark tamed and subdued. Ever since he'd first met Ross Poldark when they were both boys, George had felt a strong mixture of antagonism, envy and yet an infuriating wish to be closer to the handsome young boy. They had grown up and while the Warleggans' had prospered, the Poldarks' had not, at least not the younger branch of the family. Ross' father's mine had yielded less profit and his fortunes had faded.

There had to be something in that. Although Ross persisted in continuing the mining on Poldark lands, George Warleggan knew that there would be no profit in the undertaking, not in the long run. The mines of Cornwall couldn't compete with those in Wales. It was only a matter of time. The farming couldn't increase Ross' fortune, such as it was. Moneylending however, would always be needed and though not considered as 'respectable' as other sources of income, it would always be a steady source of income.

That little voice taunted George, saying that it all depended on other people. If they were destitute, where would the Warleggans get their money? What would happen if everyone left for America or at least other parts of England? He silenced the little voice, knowing that if that happened, the Warleggans would follow. To America or anywhere their fortune would take them.

It was only stupidity and stubbornness that kept Ross Poldark on Poldark lands, George knew that. That man could be infuriating, yet so – George angrily shook his head. No, he would not waste any more time thinking about Ross Poldark.

Cary Warleggan caught the faint movement of George's head and raised his eyebrows, inquiringly.

”What was that?”

”Nothing. Let's continue.”

”Very well.”

”No, wait. I was thinking about how we might get to Ross Poldark. The way he has managed to continue with his foolishness is intolerable. I want him humbled, his business bought up by us and his attempts at independence hindered.”

”I agree, but we have been over this a thousand times. Do you have any new ideas to suggest? So far he's proved strangely resistant to any outside pressures.”

”Well, if nothing we have tried so far by respectable means has worked, perhaps we should considered something more – inventive?”

Cary Warleggan's slightly bored, condescending face expressed a certain amount of interest. George took that as encouragement.

”It occurred to me that we might – take away a little of Ross' reputation. Dishonor him.”

”Yes? And how do we do that?”

”I have heard of certain houses in London, houses where they employ young men of questionable reputation to – cater to degenerate men's needs.”

”I too, have heard of those houses. It appears that anything the debauched mind can think of someone has thought to realize and to offer such services for payment. Surely you are not suggesting we invest in such a – house?”

”Not at all. Ross Poldark has a strong reputation as a ladies' man. Despite the – disagreement – with his family – many people hold him in high esteem. Perhaps that is where we should start? To take from him that estimation and make him the object of gossip of the – more scandalous kind.”

Cary Warleggan considered the suggestion for so long that George began to sweat. Was he going to be chastised and humliliated?

Then a faint smile briefly moved across the elder Warleggan's countenance.

”Perhaps you have a point. How do we proceed?”

”I thought we might acquire the services of a number of such young men – say three of them? - and have them come down here from London or – perhaps we may find them closer to home – perhaps in Bristol or Southampton -”

”No, let us find an establishment in London. The places that may cater to the seafaring classes surely attract a baser kind of – young men. In London, they know the value of discretion.”

”I believe you're right.”

”Procure their services. Have them come here. Then what?”

”We shall point Ross Poldark out to them and have them – intercept him and knock him out. Then have him taken to an inn or perhaps a rented house. A goblet of drugged wine – a bed – those three young men shall ply their trade and – we shall let the servants talk – within reason. Let the rumours spread. It may be enough to turn people away from Poldark's venture.”

”Hm. It seems rather too elaborate, yet you are right, we have tried everything, it seems, and nothing has worked so far. Perhaps this is what it will take. In any case, it is worth a try, if – let's be very clear about this – you remain anonymous. This must never be traced back to us. Our name must not be tarnished.”

”Perish the thought. I shall use my utmost discretion.”

”See that you do.”

Cary Warleggan turned away from George with a gesture of what George took as contempt. Was it for the scheme or for him? He was never quite sure.

George Warleggan left for London on business, the nature of which he made very sure no one knew. He made discreet inquiries about the type of establishment he sought. Within a matter of days he had found the right place and he'd even visited it, in disguise, to ascertain that they offered the services he required. While sitting among those wretches he had a few sips of wine, but though he was tempted, he did not sample anything else the house had to offer. He chose three tall, strong-looking young men, bearing in mind the physical attack that would have to precede the more intimate one.

The owner of the house, who was also the manager, agreed to let the three young men travel all the way to Cornwall for a sum of money that exceeded his profits for a week of ordinary illicit meetings in central London.

When Warleggan returned, the three young men departed as well, though they did not travel together. Before leaving London, Warleggan had made his intentions clear and the three young men had indicated that they understood and would follow his instructions to the letter. All that remained was pointing out their target.

Once back in Cornwall, George wasted no time finalising his plans. He met the three young men and was able to identify their target as he passed by their hiding place on his way into town. A house was rented and more money was handed over.

Safely back in his home, George began to look forward to the conclusion of the venture. He would wait for the drug to take effect, then witness the violation from a safe distance.

The waiting was wearing on his patience. He wanted it to be over with and Ross Poldark brough to his knees – There was something in that image that moved George in ways he refused to acknowledge. Many was the time he had dreamed of beating Ross into submission, making him crawl, beg, submit to his will – yet always at the last moment – George shied away from what he really wanted from Ross.

Finally, by late evening, a message arrived from his three hirelings, informing him that the first phase of their work was done. They had, in accordance with his orders, successfully subdued their target and he was now held locked in a room in the hired house.

Silently, he made his way out to the stable, where he unlike his usual habit, saddled his own horse and was about to leave as unobtrusively as possible. Unfortunately, at that late time, Cary insisted on coming along.

”After all, my money is being spent on this and I should like to make sure all is to our satisfaction.”

”But I can do that.”

Instinctively, George wanted to experience this on his own. However, the elder Warleggan would not be denied and as ever, George capitulated. Some day – but not today – he would -

They disappeared into the night as silently as they could and made their way by a slightly roundabout route to their rented house. The lights were on, fires were lit and when they knocked on the door, it was opened by a female servant who looked every bit as talkative as they could have hoped. They could only hope that their disguises and assumed names would prove sufficient to fool the servants. Having taken the precaution of hiring people from further afield, they did not fear discovery to any greater extent.

Upstairs, three rooms had been prepared and the Warleggans retreated one after the other to their assigned room. Once the three young men went into action, George would approach the door which had been left slightly ajar, to witness the final humiliation of his enemy.

The scene playing itself out before his eyes, proved strangely compelling. George's eyes were irresistibly drawn to the spectacle taking place on the bed.

Once the three young men were finished with their playmate on the bed, they retired to below stairs, leaving Ross Poldark, senseless and naked on the bed. When the sound of their footsteps had faded, George opened the door and slipped silently inside. Minutes ticked away as he stood gazing down on his helpless enemy. A smile spread across George's face. This was proving highly rewarding.

Before he could check the impulse, George reached out a hand and placed it on Ross' chest. He felt the slow, steady beat of the other man's heart. The skin was warm to the touch and suddenly, George had to feel more of Ross' skin. Casting a furtive glance over his shoulder, George sat down on the side of the bed, feeling the warmth of Ross' thigh against his hip. He bent lower and listened to the sound of Ross' slow breathing. A slight scent of salt and hay emanating from Ross' skin entered George's nose. It was intoxicating. Unable to resist anymore, George pressed his lips to Ross' and after a momentary pause, let his tongue slip inside.

George drew in breath sharply and he felt his heart skip a beat. He stretched out beside Ross and let his hands move across the warm skin. Deep down, he knew that once this threshold had been crossed there was no turning back. It was useless denying it. No matter what base, debauched instinct that had a hold on him, he knew he desired this man, and that ever since he was young he'd been secretly longing for this day, when he would finally own the object of his desire.

Before he had satisfied the desperate need, he heard a slight noise from behind and to his horror and dismay he spied Cary Warleggan standing over him, a look of distaste on his studiedly disinterested face. George rushed to his feet and frantically straightening his clothes, fled back to the room he'd claimed as his.

Cary Warleggan remained standing, gazing down on the younger man's body, much like George earlier. He remained deep in thought for a moment, then he too reached out and touched Ross' shoulder. There was no reaction. Following an impulse he couldn't explain, Cary hastily removed his own clothing and lay down on the bed next to the younger man. With less hesitation than George, he gave in to the temptation.

In the early hours of the morning, the Warleggans had the servants take Ross back to the spot where he had been ambushed. His horse was left grazing over him, as he lay there, his clothes in disarray.

The two Warleggans stealthily made their way back home, a deep silence reigning between them.

When the sun's rays stung Ross' eyes, he began to come to. He had no memory of what had occurred. A bout of nausea made him retch and empty his stomach. The scarlet stain startled him more awake. He had not had any wine last night, at least as far as he could recall. Why couldn't he remember? Surely he had been on his way back from town? Then what? How did he come to lie here by the side of the road, head pounding and racked with nausea?

Had he been attacked by robbers? It was a while until he felt strong enough to search his coat pockets. Nothing appeared to be missing. He squinted down at his clothing and found them to be in disarray, but nothing apparently missing. A strange feeling came over him. He felt oddly soiled in a manner that was not fully explained by the dust from the road. Yet surely whatever gave rise to this feeling, it must be due to his lying on the ground. His clothes were covered with dust and spattered with mud from the road. His body ached from various minor cuts and bruises, which again could be explained by his fall but perhaps also from an attack by robbers?

After a while he was able to get up, though his head was spinning and he coughed and retched again. Unsteadily, he made his way over to his horse and reined it in. He didn't think he'd be able to mount it, and contented himself with leaning on it, to stay on his feet. Fortunately, the beast knew the way back to his own stable, and by the time his lazy servants had begun to go about their work, Ross was standing at the gate, looking in on his home.

Before he had time to collect himself, he was rushed by both his wife and his cousin Verity, who fell on him, reproaching him for his late arrival, bombarding him with questions about his whereabouts since last evening.

”Where were you, Ross?”

”How can you cause me such worry?”

”You reek of wine. Have you been to a tavern?”

The questions didn't help the nausea or the disorientation. His own loss of memory was beginning to frighten him in ways even direct combat had failed to do in America. What had happened to him? Why couldn't he remember? The fear made him lash out at the women and he growled at them to silence them.

He could see them recoil, startled by his harsh words. Verity's eyes seemed to mist over and Demelza was drawing in breath for an even sharper retort. He turned his back on them and was able to retreat to the pump. Shedding his clothes on the ground, he ignored the chill morning air and let the water rake his skin. Contrary to his expectation, it did not make him feel better. Not quite daring to study himself too closely, he made his way down the slope, down to the ocean and immersed himself up to his shoulders, trying to scrub his skin free of the real or imagined dirt.

Despite his efforts, he had an unsettling feeling at the pit of his stomach when he at last walked back up to his home. The women had retreated indoors and when he came inside, he could hear their outraged whispers following him up the stairs to his room. He rummaged around in the chest to find clean clothing, then gave up and lay down on his bed. His head was still pounding, even though the ache had retreated to the back of his skull where it continued its slow beating. He pulled the covers up to his chin, curled up as he had as a boy and before long, drifted off to sleep.

While he was asleep, George Warleggan sent a messenger, sworn to secrecy, to dispatch the three young men back to London. In the letter was an instruction to stop spreading the rumours and merely be on their way. He had decided that his plan had not succeeded the way he had hoped and wanted nothing more to do with it. All the while, the memory of how Ross' skin had felt against his haunted him. The scent of the other man was still in his nostrils. He could not break free of his obsession. His intention had been to make Ross submit to him. It now felt as if he was the one at Ross' mercy, had the other only known it. Worse, his uncle now knew of his weakness and could use this knowledge against him at any moment he chose.

In the morning, Ross apologized to the women for his outburst. He told them of waking up beside the road, hinting at a possible accident.

”Oh, Ross, were you robbed?”

Demelza's anger was as quick to subside as it was to arise.

”No. Nothing is missing. My horse must have shied at something. An animal, a sudden gust of wind. I am not seriously injured. No harm done.”

He wished he could be as sure of that as he was trying to convince the women.

Demelza and Verity threw themselves into his arms and he held them, grateful for their change of heart. He could not have kept up this quarrel for much longer. Not when he was feeling as he was.

They pulled back, intent on examining his real or imagined injuries, but he was able to dissuade them. The thought of anyone touching his skin was somehow intolerable. He could not think why that was. A fall, a blow to the head – none of that was any worse than he'd already suffered at one time or another, here or in America. In fact, he'd experienced much worse.

At dinner, Jud taunted him about a visit to the tavern and what he might have been up to there. Ross tried to laugh the servant's jokes off, but deep down he shuddered and didn't comment further. The old drunkard found the idea of his master drunk and carousing at a tavern, irresistibly amusing and would bring it up again and again over the following days, despite his master's lack of response.

While Ross was trying to forget the bewildering experience, George was thinking of ways to further snare and control Ross. He gave the matter a great deal of thought and eventually, he came up with a solution he felt would gain the Warleggans control over Ross and his business, yet lure him into their hands without raising too many suspicions. Granted, it was not a means he would have considered in the past and indeed he was not convinced that Cary would approve, but he would put it to his uncle and learn his reaction.

”A loan?”

”Yes. A generous enough loan to safeguard his business and – perhaps – gain us his goodwill.”

Cary appeared to be deep in thought. The fingers of his right hand beat out a slow tattoo on the table before him. George shrank back. He should have known this was too – much – too – contrary to their apparent goals.

However, after so long, George was beginning to suspect his uncle would not even deign to reply, the elder Warleggan cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows.

”This might be – a very audacious plan, but I – can see the future benefits. Very clever. Offer him money and friendship now – only to have him dependent on us later. Yes, I believe this could work to our benefit. In the long run, naturally. In the short term – he must think us crazy to offer him such good terms. It should puzzle him but hopefully lure him in. Let us proceed.”

”He will not believe us. After all this time – to suddenly have a change of heart of this nature -”

”We shall have to convince him of our sincerity. You shall. Invite him to dinner. Hint that you have a mutually beneficial business proposition for him.”

”I shall certainly try – but will he accept?”

”Be persuasive. Polite. Then, should he accept, tell him – that we have been reconsidering and come to the conclusion that – cooperation – will be mutually beneficial. Be sincere.”

George bowed his head, thinking furiously. How could he reverse years of enmity and suspicion? Yet, if he did not – his innermost desires would be frustrated.

An idea occurred to him – he had already managed to convince Ross' cousin Francis of his amiable intentions. Perhaps it was time to deepen that friendship, in anticipation of a closer bond with Ross. If he could bring about a reconciliation between the cousins, surely Ross would be grateful? In the meantime – opium held great promise. A weak man such as Francis should prove receptive to – prolonged usage of the drug. And it would render him helpless – George suddenly felt a strange mix of anticipation and dread.

What sort of a man was he? A good thing he had long ago freed himself of old beliefs and superstitions and no longer held the clergy in as much awe as he had as a boy. He had no illusions about what the clergy would think of his – weakness – but fortunately, he did not care. His concerns were connected to the gentry. If his reputation were to be lost – that would be a thousand times worse than a clergyman preaching about eternal damnation. George believed more in the here and now, than any promised paradise some time in the distant future.

George's first instinct was to delay the invitation to dinner and the offer of a loan, terrfied that Ross would somehow associate the attack with the Warleggans, but once he'd had time to consider the matter more closely, he realized that there was no reason Ross should make such a connection. On the contrary, it might even be to their advantage to keep Ross busy and his mind away from whatever might have befallen him on the way back that night.

Planning a dinner party was not something that took very long or was excessively difficult to achieve for the wealthy Warleggans and so George gave instructions to the housekeeper to prepare a dinner for three and not to spare any expense.

George spent an hour or more over the invitation, sitting at his desk, choosing and discarding phrases. He must not overdo it, though at the same time, it was essential that he find the right tone, one that was cordial enough to allay any suspicions Ross might have. The crumpled up pieces of paper, scattered across the desk and indeed the floor, bore witness to George's efforts.

At last, he felt he had struck the right tone and was confident that if Ross Poldark did not accept his invitation, it would be more due to ingrained suspicions, than any flaws in the invitation.

When Ross received the expensive and elegant missive, at first he could not guess who it might be from. He turned it over in his hands, a puzzled look on his face. The handwriting looked familiar, but he was not sure if he recognized it. In the end, he tore it open with a touch of impatience. No need to sit here wondering.

Having read the invitation, he felt no less puzzled. What was Warleggan up to now? What scheme lay behind this astonishing invitation? His first impulse was, quite naturally, to refuse, but bearing in mind his business, and even more so, the men and women dependent on it for their sustenance, the choice was not as simple as it first appeared. He did not trust the Warleggans, even for a minute, yet – they were among the few who were in a position to provide, if they so chose – though he did not believe they would – financial support for his mine.

Ross remained deep in thought, until he was called down to dinner. He considered asking Demelza for advice, because he knew her keen mind would be quick to pick up on any potential benefits or pitfalls in the offer. On the other hand, he should not get ahead of himself. This was an invitation to dinner, no more and no less. Furthermore, Demelza was not invited. That implied that it would be no social dinner, but rather a business discussion. The question was, should he even waste his time considering doing business with men like the Warleggans? His instincts screamed no, but he knew he couldn't afford to turn the Warleggans down out of hand, not with so many mouths to feed, as it were.

He delayed his decision until after dinner. Demelza instantly knew something was on her husband's mind and was quick to ask him what it was. Ross hesitated. He knew very well what she would think and he shared her suspicions of the Warleggans. Yet – what choice did he have if this – potential offer – could help his dependents?

”I have received a dinner invitation.”

A look of dismay, followed by nervous calculation flew over Demelza's intelligent features.

”Wait. It's just for me. Not you. So you need not think of anything to wear.”

He was reassured by the relief this inspired.

”Oh. Are you going?”

”I don't know. It's from George Warleggan. He's inviting me to dine with him and Cary Warleggan. Ten days from now. At their home.”

”But why? Why should those two invite you to dinner? You are hardly -”

”Quite so. That is the question and the reason for my hesitation. I do not want to do business with them, if that is the reason behind their invitation, which – I sense it could be. Yet, if they have decided to fund my mining venture, should I allow my own personal prejudices to stand in the way of what might well be the only way of keeping going? Remember how many people are dependent on our ability to provide for them.”

”You're right. I know you would never agree to anything that might place our interests at risk. If you believe there might be something to gained from hearing them out, then I think you should go. You will know if their offer is genuine. For all we know, they may have come to the conclusion it would be to their advantage to invest in your mine, after all.”

”Yes. Regardless of our earlier dealings, business is business, or at least so they might very well feel.”

”Then it's decided. Accept and be – wary.”

Ross smiled at Demelza's tone. She sounded so serious. On the one hand, he wished she could be more cheerful, but on the other, he knew that part of what attracted him to her was her keen mind and absolute loyalty to him. He doubted – though this hurt to even think it – Elizabeth would be so strongly supportive to Francis, or indeed to himself, had matters turned out differently. Throughout dinner, as he watched Demelza go about her chores, then sit down by the fire to rest, Ross knew he had no regrets. He had made the right choice.

Reluctantly, he returned to his study to reply to the invitation. He was hoping he wasn't making a mistake. There were still doubts at the back of his mind, but his decision was made and he would not undermine it by doubting himself.

When George Warleggan received the reply, a smile spread across his tense features. He began to relax a little. His plans were being set into motion. If only he could attract Ross' attention with the offer, he would have him. He felt a stab of excitement at the thought, and hardly a trace of shame. The die was cast. He was committed to the plan. Ross would be his.

In the days until the dinner would take place, the Poldark household went about their daily chores. Ross spent time at the mine. Demelza sometimes escorted by her husband, sometimes in the company of her servants, went into town to do some shopping.

On the way back, with her purchases securely tied up in parcels and packages, she overheard the servants whispering about something.

”What are you two mumbling about?”

Prudie glanced quickly away from her, but Jud appeared more willing to speak up. That man – Demelza knew he had served Ross' father, but she would have felt better if he was nowhere near their home. He was lazy, a drunkard and rude and oppositional even at the best of times.

”It's just some talk we heard in town, see. Some gentleman -”

Jud spat the word out as if he despised his betters or – perhaps – as if this particular gentleman was no better than could be expected.

”Yes?”

Demelza was far from curious, her mind already on her household chores, and on the mine – and truth be told – her handsome husband, but she wanted to know what the servants were discussing. It was always better to know, so nothing took her by surprise later, in case their gossip might adversely affect their home and family.

”They say he has sent for some rent boys from London and – enjoyed their services in a rented house nearby.”

”Really? Well, I don't see that it's any of our business so -”

”Aren't you the least bit curious? Who might it be? Everyone's wondering, see.”

”Yes, I can see that they would.”

Demelza mentally dismissed this piece of information. Truth be told, she did not truly know what a 'rent boy' was. Perhaps Ross would, but clearly, judging by Jud's tone, it was something scandalous. She would not play into his hands and ask him. Let him believe she was as knowledgeable as he was. Or perhaps she ought to betray her ignorance, in the interests of appearing to be ladylike. But she had no wish to lower herself to Jud's level and decided to put the matter out of her mind.

Later that evening, Ross returned. Although Demelza didn't know it, he too, had heard the rumours about the gentleman who supposedly had brought rent boys from London, but like Demelza, Ross had more important things on his mind and unlike most of his neighbours, he was not curious. Having spent years in the war, he, unlike his young wife, knew very well what the term implied. Had he not spent cold, miserable nights out in the field, being forced to listen to what his fellow soldiers got up to, far away from any women? Ross himself, had never had any trouble finding suitable female companionship, even in America, so he had never considered the idea himself.

His mind was more occupied with the upcoming dinner and the potential business proposal.

The evening came and Ross rode off to meet the Warleggans. He was nervous and tense, but willing to hear the two moneylenders out. After all, this was not just about his own preferences. He had others to consider.

To his immense bafflement, the two Warleggans were polite and amiable. They seemed to be going out of their way to treat him as an honoured guest. Initially, this only served to increase his suspicions, however, as the evening went by, he found himself wondering if perhaps he had misjudged George. As a boy, he had been a bully. Proud and touchy and ever prepared to strike out at anyone to protect what he perceived to be his honour. He had always been an arrogant and ambitious young man. Ross hardly recognized him now. Perhaps the Warleggans had come to the conclusion that they would stand to gain from a joint venture? The question was, did he share their belief?

After dinner, the three men retreated to a comfortable library where more drinks were served. Not once during the evening, could Ross detect any hidden barbs in the other men's words. They appeared to be intent only on being good hosts. Again, his conviction not to trust them began to waver.

”Now – if you will forgive me – I was wondering if you might be willing to devote a few minutes to a business proposal?”

Cary sat in his armchair, arms relaxedly resting on the armrests, a benevolent look on his face, and an almost-smile hovering on his lips. Clearly the two Warleggans were in agreement.

”Why not?”

Ross had decided to hear them out. After all, he couldn't see what harm it could do.

”Over the past months, you have been seeking investors for your mining venture.”

”Yes, as you well know.”

”Indeed. We have been discussing the possibility of – ceasing our resistance to your venture and instead – considering investing in your mine. It makes sense that we – men of business – should join forces, instead of opposing each other.”

”Hm. I suppose you may be right.”

”Excellent. We are prepared to offer you a sum of -”

What George was proposing would quite easily see their mine into the next year and beyond. Their financial troubles would disappear. Yet the question remained. What did the Warleggans want in return?”

”That's a very generous offer. However, you will not mind if I ask what you want in return?”

”Not at all. What does every other investor want? A financial return, naturally. If you are concerned about us exerting – undue influence – on your business decisions, I can put your mind at rest. This will be a business agreement, pure and simple. I expect you to manage our money well and provide a profit for us at the end of – let us say a year? If there is no profit by then, we will be willing to extend the time to two or even three years. We have – studied your methods and we believe we can trust you to use our money wisely.”

Ross was stunned by the offer. He kept trying to spot any deceit behind it, but failed to find it. All he could see were benevolent smiles and – what he believed was a genuine offer. Yet it was not easy to ignore years of enmity and rivalry. Trusting the Warleggans, went against all his instincts.

”Well, it does seem like a generous offer. However, I shall have to present this to my solicitor before I agree to anything.”

”By all means. I would expect nothing less. Please. Take your time. We shall expect a reply at the end of a fortnight.”

Ross nodded, still not quite sure if he was making a mistake. This seemed too good to be true and he knew from experience that such offers usually were exactly that. Still – the mine was struggling. People's livelihoods depended on him. Perhaps this was the only way forward.

They spent the rest of the evening politely chatting, enjoying his hosts' excellent wines and brandies.

Riding home that night, Ross couldn't help marvelling at the turn of events. Yet at the back of his mind, he was still wondering if he was doing the right thing.

At the end of the fortnight, Ross signed the contract, not without hesitation, but since his solicitor had failed to find anything suspicious in the wording, he could not justify refusing.

To 'celebrate' their business agreement, Ross was once again invited to the Warleggan household and yet again, he was treated with the utmost respect and amiability. When they chose to, clearly the Warleggans could be excellent hosts. However, something about their cordial behaviour was beginning to unnerve Ross slightly. He had the impression that George in particular, was trying a little too hard. Why? What was behind his slightly overwhelming treatment?

The dinner invitations kept coming and Ross found himself spending more time with the Warleggans than he'd ever imagined.

At times, Ross seemed to detect an overly – physical – touch. It was nothing too apparent, though – perhaps he was wrong – but occasionally, he felt that George was getting a little to close for comfort. Once in a while, he felt a hand on his. George would bend over him to refill his goblet with wine and almost brush his face with his hair or at the very least Ross felt the touch of George's breath on his cheek. Surely he was imagining things? Even Cary could at times approach him a little to closely – or was it merely his past in the army that made him wary of other people's proximity?

While the Warleggans were tending to their connection with Ross Poldark, George didn't neglect to spend time with Francis. He found Francis far less attractive than his cousin, yet far more approachable.

When he first suggested that he and Francis share his favorite courtesan, Francis had reacted with doubt and hesitation, yet before long, the other man had agreed, as if eager to try something new. George did not waste time wondering why a man as relatively recently wed as Francis would seek other diversions – it did not hold any interest for him – he was merely pleased that he was getting where he wanted with Francis.

They went to the tavern where George most often had his trysts with the woman – a true professional – dedicated to providing the sort of service a gentleman wanted – regardless of common or conventional practices.

He noted with satisfaction that Francis was easily persuaded to partake of the more – unusual pleasures of the flesh.

As they lay there, pressed against the woman in between them, George dedicated himself to accustoming Francis to more intimate touches between the two men. Lying so close to a woman, it was inevitable that they too should occasionally brush each other's skin. Francis appeared to think nothing of that, intent as he was on exploring the new sensations.

All the while, George continued to provide Francis with the opium he more and more began to crave. A slight smile was playing on George's lips as he considered the near future. Soon. Soon he would be able to dismiss the courtesan outright and instead – he was overcome with excitement at the thought of pleasures still to come. This would be different from the boyish delights he had shared with his peers, growing up. And Francis had the great advantage of being Ross' cousin. The association could not fail to further increase George's excitement and anticipation.

However, were they to dispense with the woman they had shared, George knew he would have to find another location for his and Francis' meetings. What would be simpler than retreating to his own home? He would invite Francis to dinner, then offer him a bed for the night –

Francis did not appear to be unwilling. George did not fool himself into believing Francis craved his company. It was the opium that was the main attraction. But so be it. Thanks to the opium he would now be in a position to enjoy – almost – what his true heart's desire was.

To George's intense relief, Cary was to be away for a fortnight on a business trip to London. In his absence George always felt more free.

And sure enough, on the night in question, Francis didn't deny him anything. After he'd partaken of the opium, he was as docile as George could have wished. He had dismissed the servants, except for a truly reliable man who in the past had often aided George in procuring the right sort of woman or indeed the opium.

While he was enjoying Francis' favours, George closed his eyes and imagined the man underneath him was Ross. He was almost frightened by his own reaction. Compared to this, what he'd done with the courtesans was nothing. This – took him to a whole different level. Even afterwards, he felt excited, merely remembering each movement, touch or taste. The memory sent thrills througout his entire body. This was all he had been waiting for and more.

After a few such meetings, George had to admit that he wanted more. Francis was – not nearly as attractive as Ross and once the first excitement had abated, George found Francis' stupor less attractive than at first. Granted, there was a certain attraction in taking someone who was helpless and unmoving. On the other hand, George knew only too well that availing himself of Ross, would be far more difficult – and – if it were even possible – he could not see any other possibility than to use opium to drug his victim. Ross would never willingly let himself be used by a man.

So opium it would have to be. George began to plan another dinner, this time with both cousins. He had a wish to have both cousins at the same time. Indeed, to perhaps induce a certain – physical intimacy - between the two cousins.

Unfortunately, his uncle returning early put a temporary stop to George's plans. Should he dare to invite both cousins to dinner with his uncle present? He was far from sure what Cary thought of the time he had surprised George with Ross on the bed, the first time they'd had him at their mercy. It was obvious that his uncle had witnessed far too much, yet he had never referred to the incident, except in glances and meaningful smiles.

It also seemed that with winter coming on, Cary would not be leaving on any more business trips until spring. If George wanted to set his plans in motion, it would have to be with Cary present. Perhaps that would not be such an obstacle? If he waited until his uncle retired for the evening, he could easily visit the room he would provide for the two cousins together. If he handled this the right way, it would not seem too much out of the ordinary. He would of course have to dismiss all the servants except for his man Barton.

When he put the suggestion to his uncle– naturally without mentioning his real plan – the latter didn't hesitate to agree, which left George wondering exactly why his uncle was so eager to concur. However, this was too good an opportunity to waste, so he began to set his plans in motion at once. He sent off invitations to the two cousins, ordered in provisions and thought of a good enough excuse to send the servants away. Naturally with the exception of Barton, who was pressed into action in various ways. With the servants away, it would not seem odd that only one guest room could be provided. The weather provided all the excuses he could wish for to invite his two guests to spend the night.

Barton also went off on a journey to procure the required amounts of opium. Nothing could be left to chance.

As George had expected, it proved difficult to persuade Ross to attend a dinner with Francis present. The two cousins did not get along and that, truth be told, was part of the attraction – to George's mind – of getting the two men to – under the influence of opium – be more physically intimate.

With some effort, George was eventually able to persuade Ross to come despite Francis' presence. The investment clearly proved beneficial in many ways.

The night of the dinner arrived and Ross set off once more to the Warleggans house. He felt a certain amount of dread, sensing an interest beyond the business connection, yet secure in the knowledge that even the Warleggans – if indeed he was right in his suspicions – would not dare to breach the code of polite conduct.

That Francis would be present, was another challenge. It seemed to Ross that each time he met Francis, he made an effort to be polite, yet Francis did not appear to appreciate his efforts and even seemed to take pleasure in rejecting his cousin. However, since the Warleggans had been so insistent, Ross did not feel he could refuse.

Francis nodded briefly in greeting, seeming eager to meet his hosts and to sit down at the dinner table. He mostly ignored Ross and no harsh words were uttered. Behaviour aside, Ross was startled to see the change in Francis. His cousin appeared to have aged since the last time they'd met. Furthermore, Francis looked – ill – pale and drawn – as if he had spent far too much time drinking and carousing – than dealing with the other Poldark mine.

The watershot eyes hinted at an even worse addiction than to wine and stronger spirits. Surely Francis wasn't – Ross found it extremely hard to believe. Perhaps it was just the – difficult times. Times like that could age a man, Ross had seen it too many times before to doubt that. Yet what he and Demelza had been through, was it not even worse? Losing a child. At least Francis and Elizabeth still had their little son. Ross felt as if a cold hand had gripped his heart as he recalled the pathetic little body he'd held in his arms.

Perhaps the memory caused him to drink rather too much of his hosts' excellent vintages; in any case, Ross soon began to feel the effects of the wine. Before long, he was beginning to nod off on his chair and he struggled to stay awake. Francis seemed even worse for wear. He looked up to see George's servant Barton place another course on the table.

He had to rouse himself, or risk being impolite to his hosts. After dinner, the men once again retreated to the library for some cognac and conversation. However, Francis contributed little and Ross, quite honestly, not much more. Painfully aware of how his eyes kept sliding shut, Ross did all he could to stay awake and at least appear to be alert. Outside, the wind was picking up. He had had some fear that he might not be able to return home tonight and it seemed his concerns were justified.

As if reading his mind, George broached the subject.

”Not a good night to be out riding, my friends. If you like, I shall have a room prepared for you. However, I must warn you. The servants are having some time off, and with only Barton here to serve us, I'm afraid I can't offer you more than one room. I apologize profusely. This is not what I would wish for, but since this domestic situation has come up, I'm afraid that's all I have to offer.”

Francis hardly appeared to have heard the suggestion. Ross did not feel enthusiastic about sharing a room with his cousin, yet could think of no reason to refuse. He knew that riding back tonight could be dangerous and if not, at least highly unpleasant. If the room was spacious enough and the beds -

”Thank you. I would appreciate your hospitality.”

Francis barely nodded, and indeed seemed to have little interest in anything beyond the pleasures of the table.

A little later, Barton appeared, carrying a candle, to show the two cousins the way to their room. Upstairs, Ross found that the room was indeed spacious enough, however there was only one bed, albeit big and comfortable enough. He knew that to protest would have been not merely impolite but also useless, under the circumstances. In addition, it was hardly the first time he and Francis had shared the same bed. Ross could hardly recall the first time. They must have been mere boys. The last time – he likewise couldn't recall. Once he remembered, Francis had wet the bed. Another time, much later, they had fallen out over something and the sound of their quarrel had brought someone older to investigate and – some sort of punishment had been meted out.

Tonight, Ross could not anticipate any trouble. Francis was almost completely asleep already. He merely removed his jacket and shoes, then stretched out on the bed. There was a goblet on a small table beside the bed, on Francis side. When Ross checked, there was another on his side. Barton had also placed a candlestick on each table. The man bowed unctuously and backed out, closing the door behind him.

Ross too, began to undress, but followed Francis' example and kept most of his garments on. The bed was comfortable, that much was true and certainly big enough for two, if indeed not a whole family. Clearly the Warleggans didn't spare any expense, even when furnishing the guest rooms.

Ross glanced back at Francis who was drinking deeply from his goblet. Francis didn't feel the need for any temperance, apparently. Considering how tired he already was, Ross did not himself feel the need for any more drink, except now he felt that his throat was a little dry so despite everyhing, he took a small sip. The wine was excellent. There was a slightly unusual aftertaste, but not unpleasant. He guessed it was imported. Not a vintage he was familiar with.

Ross began to drift off to sleep, feeling slightly dizzy and confused. Was the room a little too warm? A fire was roaring in the fireplace, but the cold night air could easily penetrate even the walls of such a well built house as this, so it was probably a wise precaution this late in the year.

To Ross' surprise, after a short time, he became more wide awake, but instead, far more confused. The room was spinning around him and he was not quite sure of where he was or even who was lying next to him. Despite the feeling of confusion, he did not feel concerned. A pleasant feeling of relaxation spread through him and he felt entirely at ease. He could hear whoever it was that was lying next to him laughing and even talking to himself. Surely he wasn't still in America? The enlisted men did not get to enjoy such a lavish chamber with only one bedmate.

A slight noise from the doorway made Ross glance in that direction. He was not the least bit curious. When he saw George Warleggan enter, he lay back on the bed. So his host was paying him a late night visit? In his condition, he never thought to wonder why.

”Are you comfortable, my friends? Is there anything I can get you?”

Francis smiled but was unable to produce a coherent reply. Ross tried to make his vocal cords obey him but did not have much more success. Indeed, George did not seem to be awaiting a reply. Instead, he sat down on the bed, on Ross' side. He nudged Ross slightly towards the middle of the bed and Ross saw no reason to object. Now he was lying so close to Francis he was touching him, yet again, he felt no reason for alarm. There was plenty of room for all three of them. He could think of no reason why it might be considered odd for his host to join them in bed.

Not even when George began to touch them both, did Ross feel the slightest touch of alarm or began to wonder at the unusual conduct of his host. Instead, he smiled and relaxed, lying back to enjoy the comfortable bed.

George bent down to press his lips against Ross' then Francis'. He pulled back slightly and appeared to be studying his guests closely. With a gentle hand behind Ross' back he made him turn over and face Francis then did the same with Francis. Now the two men were lying face to face, so close that their noses touched. Only a little more prodding made their lips touch.

”Go on”, George whispered. ”Kiss him.”

Francis saw no reason to refuse. The wet touch made Ross withdraw slightly and a frown appeared on his forehead.

”There. Go on. You want to kiss Francis. Don't you?”

Ross tried to think. Did he? Well, if George said so, then clearly he must want to kiss Francis. He did his best to comply though Francis' slack mouth did not feel inviting. Indeed, he had barely withdrawn again, when he noticed that Francis' eyes had fallen shut. The sound of his slow, even breathing told George, if not Ross that Francis had fallen asleep. George resigned himself to the fact that he would not be witnessing any more intimacy between the two cousins. He might still avail himself of Francis' unresponsive body, but he did not believe it would be possible to induce any more action from Ross.

George shed his own garments, then began to further undress Ross, who to his relief, never thought to object or resist.

Ignoring Francis, who did not present a very attractive aspect as he lay flat on his back, mouth open and even snoring, George lay down on top of Ross, shivering with anticipation. It was all he'd ever dreamed of and this time, Cary did not make an appearance so George was left to fulfill his wildest expectations in peace and quiet.

Eventually, George got up, put his clothes back on and quietly made his way back to his own rooms. He did not see or hear Cary making his way to the room the two cousins were sharing.

What Cary saw on the bed, aside from the snoring Francis, pleased him and he wasted no time in his turn undressing and making free of Ross' body. By now, Ross was rather less responsive than earlier, but even so the younger man did not disappoint Cary. Though forced to restrain himself slightly – after all, Ross would eventually wake up - Cary did not have any reason for regret.

Late in the morning, Ross began to come awake. At first, he had trouble recalling where he was, but he was so relaxed he felt no cause for alarm. Even so, his head caused him some concern. Had he really drunk so much last night? He was feeling dizzy and slightly sick. After a while, he became aware of the sound of someone breathing close by. With an effort, he was able to turn his head slightly and recognized Francis.

A little later, Francis began to make some noises and it was clear that he too was coming awake. Ross decided he would try to get up. He had no idea what time it was, but he had no wish to remain here any longer than necessary. It took an enormous effort, but eventually, he was sitting on the side of the bed, waiting for the room to stop spinning around him. He found his clothes and gingerly got up. Holding on to the walls, he made his way towards the door. After a while, he began to feel a little better, but he still clung tightly to the banister on his way down the stairs. Down there, he was met by a servant who looked somewhat familiar.

”Good morning, sir. Would you care for some breakfast?”

Ross' stomach turned at the thought of food, so he declined as politely as he felt able to. The servant bowed equally politely and escorted him to the front door, followed him out to the stable and made his horse ready. As far as Ross could see, squinting in the meagre late autumn light, his horse had been well treated. To his shame, the servant had to help him into the saddle. With a brief word of thanks, he set off, at a leisurely pace. Fortunately, the horse knew the way home without his guidance. He focused on staying in the saddle.

On his return, Demelza smiled, looking amused at his condition. He found no cause for mirth. Surely he hadn't taken to drinking like Francis? Indeed he did not even recall how much wine and other spirits he had consumed the night before. To his shame, he had very few memories of that night. In the cold air, he could not bring himself to rinse himself off underneath the pump and far less going down to the ocean. Instead, he contented himself with the wash basin Demelza provided. As his head began to clear, he began to feel uneasy. There was something not right. He felt – unclean – but why he should feel that way after spending a night as a guest at another man's house, he did not know.

Under Demelza's gaze, he grew self-conscious and uncomfortable. He could not bring himself to look down on himself, and hastily scrubbed at his own skin to be able to cover himself again. Finally, he was finished and could put on the new shirt and breeches that Demelza had laid out for him.

There was not much work to be done around the farm, this time of year and what little there was Jud could provide. However, Ross knew he was needed at the mine. His head was still spinning slightly and he felt dazed and sleepy, but a late night dinner party was not a good enough excuse to neglect his duties, so no matter how eager he was to retire to bed, he knew he couldn't give in to that temptation.

”I have some breakfast for you, Ross. Do you have time to stay and eat?”

He forced down the queasiness this suggestion gave rise to, not wanting to give Demelza cause for alarm.

”Thank you. I'll be right there.”

He gazed critically at his face, knowing he should shave, but decided that he didn't feel up to it.

At the table, he forced down a dry piece of bread, hoping Demelza wouldn't be asking any awkward questions. He also swallowed a cup of diluted wine, despite almost being sick again. Before he left, he rinsed his mouth with water from the well. This late in the year, it was icy cold and numbed his mouth, which made him feel slightly better.

He decided to walk to the mine, leaving the horse in the stable to rest after the ride back from the Warleggans. The thought of the Warleggans made him feel uncomfortable. A sense of dread filled him, and he caught himself wondering, though it was the last thing he wanted, if something had happened to him last night. However, surely not even the Warleggans would – The thought of Francis having – he could not even frame the words in his mind – was even more ridiculous. Briefly, he forced himself to consider the question. Had he noticed anything out of the ordinary when he undressed to wash himself?

He had felt somehow – unclean – but he refused to consider anything more than that. Perhaps it was just the aftereffects of too much drink? Because surely the Warleggans would never – and certainly not Francis – who as far as he could recall, had been more or less unconscious late last night. He could not imagine that what he was concerned with was even possible. It was simply unthinkable. A chill went down his back, as he recalled the Warleggans' exaggerated attention and those – perhaps – hopefully – imagined – touches – He suspected something was behind their behaviour.

Yet, even if there was - Even if George – and even Cary as well – hid that kind of interest – even then – surely no gentleman – if indeed moneylenders could be counted among them – Ross angrily stopped that train of thought – he did not judge people for their background – if he had, he would never have married Demelza – but surely no one would go so far as -

He had to be imagining things. Was he going insane? This – what he feared – had to be impossible. His steps almost slowed to a stop as he tried to make sense of his suspicions. It couldn't have happened. It couldn't have. And yet – what if -

It was too late to disentangle himself from the Warleggans. The images of his miners, his tenant farmers, the people who were dependent on him for their survival told him that it would be impossible to pay the Warleggans back and break off the arrangement. Indeed, the money was already spent. His people would starve. He and Demelza would be forced to leave their home, Cornwall – perhaps even England. No, that must not be. Surely he was just letting his fancies run away with him.

He was a fool. No one would be capable of such a thing. He had to stop thinking this way. The Warleggans and their money held him in too tight a grip for him to ever be free of them. And indeed, they had never been anything but courteous and amiable and if they were a little too eager – perhaps that could be explained by their background?

By the time Ross reached the mine, he determinedly tried to put the matter out of his mind. He would not dwell on his ridiculous fancies any more. There was work to do. He could not afford to be distracted. His responsibilities would have to take precedence over any other considerations.

And Demelza – if she ever heard of his foolish notions – he could not bear the thought of seeing her lose her love and trust for him. He could not lose her. Anything would be better than that.

FIN

© Tonica


End file.
